Ready-Made Bride

CHAPTER TWO

TWO days, and his house smelled like her, a light, floral fragrance that teased his senses and went straight to his head faster than a shot of one-hundred-proof whiskey.

Two days, and she’d worked her way into his son’s heart and brought laughter to his home. Every time he turned around she was there, smiling and talking to him in that sweet voice of hers. And damn, but she made the most delicious beef stew and corn bread he’d ever tasted, all from scratch.

One week? He didn’t stand a chance, not when every time she spoke he wondered what her lips tasted like. She reminded him how much he’d liked being married and having a wife to fill the emptiness in the house at night… that first six months when he’d thought life couldn’t be more perfect.

He’d disillusioned himself big-time.

With a low growl of frustration, Kane scrubbed a piece of sandpaper over the flat surface of wood he’d cut for a shelf. Other than the handshake he’d shared with Megan the day she’d arrived, he wouldn’t be touching her. His personal stakes were too high to risk. Distance would save his sanity and protect his emotions. It had for years.

Shaking his head, he walked to the open barn doors and glanced at the house. The soft glow of lights illuminating the living room window beckoned him. He’d managed to make himself scarce for the remainder of Friday night and all day Saturday to give Andy and Megan time alone to get acquainted. Knowing he couldn’t be a recluse forever, he went inside his workshop and put his tools away. He made his way to the house, moonlight guiding the way.

He stepped into the kitchen. An upbeat Alan Jackson tune drifted through the house, along with feminine laughter and boyish giggles. He entered the living room and found them two-stepping to the lively music, an arm’s length separating them. Where his son’s movements were stiff and awkward, Megan’s were fluid and graceful. Whenever Andy stumbled or missed a beat, they’d both burst out laughing, she’d tease him, and they kept going.

Enjoying the scene and his son’s eagerness to learn, he leaned against the doorjamb and watched them shuffle around the small room. She wore black leggings that molded her trim bottom and long legs and a white blouse, the ends tied in a knot at her tiny waist. She’d put her shoulder-length hair in a ponytail, and a few shorter strands wisped around her flushed face. Desire and longing mangled, reminding him that he was still a healthy, red-blooded male who appreciated a beautiful woman.

At the end of the song she unexpectedly twirled Andy in a circle. His son’s arms didn’t coordinate with his legs, and he fell toward Megan, tangling himself in her arms. She lost her footing, and with a surprised cry they landed on the couch. Before Andy could recover from the fall, she began tickling him. Squeals and infectious laughter rang out. Caught up in the fun, Kane chuckled.

She stopped her tickle torture and immediately sat up, her eyes wide and luminous. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said breathlessly, smoothing strands of hair from her face.

Her blouse was bunched beneath her breasts, revealing two inches of skin he knew would be baby soft to the touch. Prying his eyes from the temptation, he approached the couch. “You guys were having too good a time.”

“Megan was teaching me how to two-step,” Andy said, a big grin spreading across his face. “It’s fun. Why don’t you try it, Dad?”

He tensed. “I don’t dance.” Working to help support him and his sister had stolen the years when he should have been enjoying school dances and attending town socials. The one and only time he’d danced was at his wedding, and even then it had been a slow, shuffling rhythm he’d feigned, nothing nearly so complicated as all the fancy steps they’d been executing.

“Everybody dances, Dad.” He tugged Kane two steps closer to Megan. “Isn’t that what you told me, Megan?”

Her startled gaze darted from Kane to their little mediator. She shifted on her bare feet. “Uh, yes, I guess I did.”

Kane held up his hands to ward off what he knew was coming. “Son, I have two left feet-”

“And Megan has two right feet.” Gales of laughter escaped Andy, and he slapped his leg at his silly pun. “Stop worryin’, Dad, you’ll do fine. It’s really easy. All you have to do is put one hand on Megan’s waist and hold her other hand, and Megan will put her hand on your shoulder.” As Andy spouted the instructions he positioned them accordingly.

Before Kane knew it, he had his hands all over Megan, and although it was all innocent fun, his thoughts were anything but pure. His thumb slipped beneath the loose hem of her blouse and grazed the skin between the waistband of her leggings and her breasts. Yep, softer than skin on a peach. He felt her shiver, saw the awareness in her gaze. He tormented himself further and pulled in a deep breath, filling himself with her scent.

So much for not touching her. So much for keeping his distance, at least physically.

“Now follow Megan’s lead,” Andy said, just as a new song started on the portable radio sitting on the brick hearth.

A smile trembled on Megan’s lips, then a determined I-can-do-this-and-not-be-affected look entered her eyes. With all the primness and professionalism of a dance teacher, she instructed him on the few steps it took to make the two-step possible.

The pattern was simpler than he’d thought. After their first pass around the living room without making too much of a fool of himself, he turned Megan around and smoothly took the lead.

Andy clapped gleefully from the couch. “You’re two-stepping, Dad!”

His mouth twitched. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

They two-stepped to an upbeat tune without him stumbling or losing count of his steps too often. When the fast country tune segued into a slow, romantic ballad, she started to pull away, her fingers sliding from his shoulder down his arm. He surprised himself by tightening the hand on her waist, keeping her there with the slight pressure. As irrational and telling as the action was, he wasn’t ready to let her go. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself so much with a woman.

Her sudden curious expression prompted a bit of daring and recklessness. “Do the same rules apply for a slow song? This much distance, I mean?”

Megan stared at Kane, her heart fluttering like a trapped butterfly in a cage. “They can, but usually…” She looked away. His gaze was too intense, too sexy, and beyond all the dark sensuality she detected a loneliness and pain matching her own, though she didn’t know the source of his, nor did he give her any indication he was willing to share it. If anything, he tried much too hard to hide the hurt behind an I-don’t-give-a-damn facade. But it was there for anyone who cared enough to look beyond the surface.

And dammit, she cared. Unwisely. Foolishly.

“Usually, what?”

His husky voice brought her back to the present, the distance separating them and what he intended to do about it. She swallowed the knot in her throat and concentrated on the light stubble grazing his jaw, the cute crease in his chin, his lips…no, not his lips. She bravely lifted her gaze to his eyes. “If we were…intimate, the man could pull the woman closer.”

He swept a hand down her back in a slow, languid caress and guided her close, his mouth near her ear. “Like this?”

She closed her eyes, suppressing the urge to groan as softness pressed into the unyielding, muscular planes of a body honed by hard, physical work. “Yes.”

The light in the living room clicked off, leaving the dim glow from the kitchen as their only source of illumination.

“Adds to the romantic atphost…atmostfear,” the guilty party said, sounding perfectly pleased with himself.

“I agree,” Kane murmured.

The mellow song played on. Kane smelled like wood shavings, earthy maleness and heat. She absorbed it all. Her hand crept up his arm and gradually settled around his neck, her fingers close enough to sift through the rebel-long strands of his hair. Their bodies moved as one, slow and sultry.

“You lied,” she whispered, lost in the magical spell weaving around them.

“I did?”

She leaned back to look at him. He towered a good seven inches over her five-foot-six. She wasn’t intimidated by his size. Instead, she felt protected and cherished and very powerful in her femininity. “You’ve got great…rhythm.”

He lifted a brow, amusement and something infinitely more flammable sparking the depths. “Yeah?”

A lazy smile curled her mouth. “You’re a natural.”

The big hand holding hers squeezed gently. “I’m a quick learner when the subject interests me.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

The song ended, and they stopped moving, though their bodies still brushed, an erotic caress that sizzled along her nerve endings. Kane’s gaze dropped to her mouth. Selfconsciously, she dampened her bottom lip with her tongue. Heated desire flashed in his eyes, and he drew in a ragged breath, as if he was a drowning man trying to hold onto the frayed ends of a rope.

She thought she heard Andrew whisper, “Come on, Dad, kiss her.”

There was enough promise and hunger in Kane’s eyes that she wanted him to. Her lips parted, and her breathing deepened.

As if coming out of a trance, Kane shook his head and stepped away, severing all contact with her. A rush of chilly air feathered across her arms, leaving goose-bumps in its wake. This time, there was no mistaking Andy’s mumbled but clearly disappointed, “Dam it.”

Oddly enough, Andy’s sentiment echoed Megan’s thoughts. A wry smile touched her lips.

Kane turned toward Andy, his face an expressionless mask. “I think you’ve had enough excitement for today. Time for bed, sport.”

“Aw, Dad, can’t I stay up a little longer?” Andy asked, shoulders sagging. “I don’t have school tomorrow.”

Kane turned off the radio and glanced at the clock on the mantel, his movements brusque. “It’s nine-thirty. You’ve been up an hour later than your normal bedtime, and we have church tomorrow morning.”

Andy slid off the couch without further argument. “Will you tuck me in, Megan?”

“I’d like that.” She brushed a blond lock of hair from his brow, knowing she’d do anything for this little boy. And realizing, too, that his father was making his mark on her, as well, whether he meant to or not. “You go brush your teeth and put on your pajamas. I’ll be right there.”

Andrew grinned, his eyes sparkling with renewed enthusiasm. “Okay.” He scampered down the hall to the bathroom.

Once he was out of earshot, Megan reached out and touched Kane’s arm. His entire body tensed, and she immediately dropped her hand. A troubled frown creased his brow, warring with the need in his eyes.

“Kane-”

His hands flexed at his sides. “It was only a dance, Megan.” His voice was rough, like the sandpaper he used on his wood.

It had been more than a dance, and they both knew it. After a few long minutes of silence, Megan turned and went down the hallway.

Andrew bounded into bed as she entered his room. He’d changed into a pair of flannel pajamas, his face was freshly scrubbed, and he smelled like mint toothpaste. He slipped beneath the covers, unable to contain a sleepy yawn.

Smiling, she sat on the edge of the mattress beside him. “You have sweet dreams.”

“I will.” Unexpectedly, he sat up and launched himself at her, hugging her tight around the waist. “I love you, Megan.”

Warmth flooded her, reaching places that had been cold and empty for so long. “I love you, too, Andrew.”

Kane hesitated at the doorway to his son’s room, not wanting to interrupt the tender scene. He propped his shoulder against the frame, giving them a few minutes before he intruded. Andrew thanked her for a fun day, and the smile on Megan’s face radiated deep affection.

Andrew settled into bed, and Megan arranged the blanket around him. Just when she would have stood to leave, Andrew grabbed her arm.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Would you…” His voice wavered and his throat bobbed. “Would you be my mom?”

Kane was so shocked by his son’s question, he couldn’t find his voice to respond before Megan did.

“I’d like nothing more than to be your mom, sweetie,” she said, gently cupping his cheek in her palm. “But it’s not as easy as that.”

“Why not?”

“Because your dad will pick a new mom for you someway.”

Guilt coiled through Kane. After Cathy’s death he hadn’t given much thought to Andrew having a motherly influence in his life. He’d believed the two of them had done just fine on their own for nearly six years…until Megan Sanders had entered the picture.

He couldn’t deny the healthy, positive effect she had on his son. Andy glowed like never before. But getting married again wasn’t on Kane’s agenda. Ever. Not even to a woman with blue eyes so deep he wanted to drown in them every day of his life.

He shook off the insane thought and steeled himself against notions of marriage. Dancing so close to Megan-the heat they’d created must have fried his brain cells.

“What if I pick you to be my mom?” Andrew persisted, not willing to accept Megan’s answer to his question.

She smoothed her hand over his bedspread, thinking. “How about I be your special friend forever?”

Andrew frowned, seemingly not satisfied with that answer, either. “Can you live here forever?”

Megan laughed and fussed with his pillow. “I don’t think your father would like that too much.”

“Dad likes you.” Andy drew his old, battered teddy bear into the crook of his arm. “Did you see him smiling at you while you were dancing?”

“That was a smile?” she teased, tweaking his nose.

Andy giggled, then grew serious. “He wouldn’t let you stay if he didn’t like you. And he’s not always grouchy. It’s just that Grandma and Grandpa Linden-”

“Lights out,” Kane said, stepping into the room before Andrew could enlighten Megan on his long-standing rift with his in-laws. Megan didn’t need to know the only reason the Lindens had anything to do with him was Andy. They’d made it abundantly clear they intended to be an active part of Andrew’s life after Cathy’s death, despite blaming Kane for their daughter’s demise. Not that he’d ever deny the Linden’s their only grandchild.

After tucking Andy into bed and turning out the lights, he walked with Megan into the living room. Now that they were alone, an awkward silence stretched between them. The basic manners his mother taught him nudged his conscience. “Would you like something to drink, or would you like to go to bed?”

His gruff question was met by delicately raised brows. A lovely shade of pink colored her complexion. Her gaze skittered toward the hallway leading to his room, and her fingers fluttered to the collar of her blouse. “Go to bed?” Her voice squeaked.

She thought he meant his bed. Although the image of Megan spilled across his mattress induced a heady, warm rush of desire he was finding increasingly hard to ignore, he suspected she’d want more than just a one-night tumble. Which was more than he was willing to give.

He waved a hand toward the couch. “I could pull the sleeper out if you’re ready to retire.”

“Oh,” she said, a soft breath whooshing out of her. “I’m not really tired.”

“Then what’ll it be? Coffee, hot cocoa or a shot of whiskey?” He was leaning toward the whiskey. A double dose to knock him out for the night so he didn’t toss and turn from the same erotic fantasies that robbed him of sleep last night.

She thought for a moment, then an irresistible twinkle brightened her eyes. “Would hot cocoa be too much trouble?”

He shrugged. “I think I can handle boiling hot water.”

“Water?” She grimaced. “That’s not the way hot cocoa was meant to be made.”

Lifting a brow, he casually crossed his arms over his chest “Andy never complains.” Damn, how did she make him enjoy her and their banter so much? Make him forget all the reasons he never established close personal relationships with women?

The spontaneous, upswept look she gave him started a slow burn in his veins. “Maybe Andy never complains because he doesn’t know what it’s like to have real hot cocoa.”

Unable to help himself, he chuckled. The sass and exuberance dancing in her eyes coaxed him into giving as good as she dished out. “Since you’ve been crowned the cook, how ‘bout you show me how to make real cocoa?”

She accepted his challenge with too much willingness. “Do you have powdered cocoa?”

He stared at her steadily, trying to ignore the subtle tensing of his insides. “What’s the difference?”

Her lilting laughter echoed in the small room. She thought he was joking. He was dead serious. She realized that much when he didn’t join in her amusement.

She struggled to contain her mirth and failed. “I guess the packaged stuff will have to do. With milk. Do you have marshmallows?”

The woman wanted marshmallows, of all things. He rolled his eyes. “I think there’s some in the cupboard.”

“Will you join me?”

How could he refuse such a request? And did he really want to? He hadn’t had cocoa since he was a kid, and it was either a warm drink and good company or a lonely, chilled night out in his workshop.

“Lead the way,” he said, before he changed his mind.

He followed her into the kitchen and helped her locate the ingredients she needed. She surprised him by being well acclimated to his kitchen and small pantry, and shooed him out of her way. He settled against the counter by the stove, letting her have free rein.

“I’m mostly a night person,” she said, filling a pan with milk then lighting the burner. “I’m used to staying up late, sometimes until one or two in the morning.”

“That makes two of us.” The confession slipped out of its own accord, giving them a mutual foundation of interest to build on.

She found a spoon in a drawer and began stirring the warming milk. “In fact, I usually do my best writing at night.”

“You could use the kitchen table and I could leave you alone-”

“Absolutely not! I’m here to rest and relax and enjoy my time with Andy. And you,” she added, not an afterthought but a genuine sentiment that reached inside him and grabbed hard. “No work. I can do that anytime and anywhere. Besides, I just made a deadline before I came out. I wrote an adventure about Andy losing one of his teeth and how the tooth fairy forgot to take his tooth and leave him a quarter.”

He gaped at her. “You didn’t.”

Grinning cheekily, she reached for two mugs in the cupboard next to the sink and placed them on the Formica countertop. “Guilty as charged. I capitalized on a great story. A sure winner with the kids.”

Kane cringed and groaned, unable to believe his parental absentmindedness had come back to haunt him in form of a mass-market book. “I hope you mentioned somewhere that the guilt-ridden tooth fairy left him five dollars the following night, instead of the usual one-dollar payment.”

Laughing, she dumped powdered mix into each of their mugs and added hot milk. Curls of steam filled the distance between them with the sweet scent of chocolate. “Do you have any cinnamon?”

“Cinnamon?” At her nod, he said, “If I do, it would be in the cupboard above the stove with the spices.”

She opened the cupboard. Spotting the container with a picture of cinnamon sticks on the label, she stood on tiptoes to reach it, and came up a few inches short. Stepping behind her, he stretched and effortlessly retrieved the small shaker, unintentionally crowding her into the counter. The front of his fly grazed her bottom, and his thighs fitted precisely with hers. She gasped at the intimate contact and spun around, her fingers gripping the counter behind her.

She looked everywhere but at him. “The Tooth Fairy’s Folly is one of my favorite stories,” she said in a rush, then skimmed her bottom lip with her tongue. “I brought an advance copy for Andy’s birthday.”

He recognized her rambling for the diversion it was. Unfortunately, his unruly hormones liked the curves of her slim figure enough to ignore the attempted aberration. “I’m sure he’ll like that.” Grabbing her hand, he placed the cinnamon in her palm, letting his fingers linger longer than decorum called for.

Gulping a deep breath, she turned to the mugs and sprinkled cinnamon on the cocoa. “I hope so. You’ll have to read the story and see if I did it justice.”

He didn’t reply because there wasn’t much he could say that wouldn’t turn an enjoyable evening into one of his worst nightmares. “Are all your stories about my son?”

“Yes.” Smiling, she dropped a cluster of small marshmallows into each mug. The white blobs melted together and turned creamy. “The series didn’t start out that way. I created it at a time in my life when I needed something to fill my spare time. Your Andy has been a great source of inspiration for my books.”

“I never knew Andy was your inspiration,” he said quietly.

She gave him a quizzical look. “You haven’t read any of the books I’ve written? The past year has been based on Andrew’s escapades.”

He shifted under her probing gaze. “I just thought all those stories were common childhood experiences,” he said offhandedly.

“I suppose they are, but I try and write them through Andy’s eyes. A child’s naïveté is precious. When Andy regales me with his tales, I take the best parts and embellish them. I owe a large part of my success to him.” She handed him his mug and tilted it toward his lips. “Taste.”

He lifted the rim and took a drink, tasting creamy vanilla, rich chocolate and a hint of cinnamon. “Umm,” he said, smacking his lips. “This is the best hot chocolate I’ve ever tasted.”

Her expression turned smug. “Just think how much better it’ll be with real cocoa.” Picking up her mug, she sashayed out of the kitchen.

Shaking his head, he followed her.

In the living room, he set his cup on the mantel, then tossed a few logs onto the grate. Within minutes a bright fire crackled in the hearth, taking away the slight chill in the room.

“Is this Andy’s mother?”

Kane straightened and glanced at the framed photograph in Megan’s hand, the one Cathy’s parents had given Andrew so he wouldn’t forget his mother. A blonde woman smiled from behind a sheet of clear glass, her brown eyes full of the sparkle and vibrance Kane had first fallen in love with so many years ago. “Yes. That’s Cathy.”

“Andrew looks a lot like her.” She placed the picture on the mantel. “She’s very beautiful.”

“Yes, she was.”

She sat on the couch and curled her legs under her. Fingers wrapped around the ceramic mug, she took a drink, blue eyes peering at him thoughtfully over the rim.

“Andy must miss her very much,” she said after a quiet moment.

He stared at the dregs of cocoa in his cup, the snap and crackle of the fire like gunfire to his ears. “Cathy died when Andy was only two. He doesn’t remember much about her.”

Sadness and sympathy etched her features. “How did she die?”

He glanced up, his jaw automatically hardening. He had to remind himself that Megan was a stranger in Linden, someone who hadn’t heard the horrifying rumor about Kane Fielding. She wasn’t pointing an accusatory finger, wasn’t looking at him in disdain.

She shifted under his intense gaze. “I didn’t mean to pry-”

“She drowned in a nearby lake,” he said abruptly.

“I’m sorry.”

So was he, more than anyone would ever know. “It was a long time ago.” He bent to tend the fire, not wanting to relive that dreary, rainy day when Cathy had died. He relived it every time he saw the Lindens. Every time he passed the lake that had stolen her life.

Megan propped her elbows on the couch’s armrest, watching as Kane tended the fire. She wondered if he was still grieving over his wife and if that was part of the reason for the shadows and secrets she occasionally glimpsed.

“Have you ever thought about getting married again?” she asked, her voice hushed, yet something-anticipation of his answer-made her chest tighten. Strange, considering she’d only met him two days ago. But she’d known him for a year and a half, she reminded herself, learning from Andrew that a gentle and compassionate person lurked beneath the sometimes brusque facade.

“No.” He carelessly tossed another log on the fire, the muscles across his back rippling with the movement. Sparks filtered up the chimney, and heat radiated outward.

“Haven’t found the right woman?”

Balancing on the balls of his feet, he stared into the fire. “I haven’t been looking.”

She couldn’t help but wonder if the right one did come along if he’d consider it. Her own marriage had been less than ideal toward the end, but she still believed one could find happiness with someone else. “What about Andrew?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, one of his rare smiles threatening to make an appearance. “He’s too young to get married.”

She made a face at him and earned herself a grin. The man could be charming, even humorous when he wanted to be. She suspected he’d deny it if she told him so. “That’s not what I meant. Doesn’t Andy deserve to have a mom?” She told herself she was only concerned for Andrew’s welfare, but the thought of another woman taking her place didn’t sit well.

A wickedly dark brow arched. “Are you applying for the position?”

Their gazes clung for several heartbeats. He was being facetious, but she couldn’t squelch the instinct in her that was rallying to say yes. She wanted to be a daily part of Andrew’s life.

She drew her knees up, then wrapped her arms around them. “I only meant that Andrew should have the influence of a mother and father.”

His amusement faded. The firelight played over his features, emphasizing the dark stubble grazing his jaw, and shining off his black hair like a tarnished halo. His eyes glittered like fired emeralds, frightening and hauntingly beautiful at the same time. “I’m not looking to get married again,” he snapped, straightening to his full height. “Andrew and I have done fine on our own, until you-” As he realized what he was saying, he clenched his jaw.

“Came along?” she finished for him, hurt by his lash of angry words, although she knew she didn’t have a right to be. She meant nothing to him, despite her feelings for his son and her need to somehow be accepted by him, too. She was foolish to think she could mean something to him when it was apparent he shut out anyone who tried to get too close.

He jammed his fingers through his hair, sat in the recliner across from the couch and released a harsh breath that whistled between his teeth. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”

The apology was stiff and gruff, as if he’d had to dig deep for it. “I understand.” And she did. She’d obviously touched on a sensitive issue, one that had unearthed the shadows of pain lingering in the aftermath of his anger. The urge to go to him, touch him, comfort him was so strong it nearly overwhelmed her. She hugged her knees tighter, unwilling to face possible rejection.

Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees. “I know you care for my son very much, and it’s obvious he returns the feelings. He’s lucky to have you as a…friend.”

And what about you Kane Fielding? Do you consider me a friend? Averting her gaze, she watched the dying flames flicker over the logs in the grate, trying to ignore the more intense heat of Kane’s eyes on her and the way her body responded with a shivery sensation.

“What about you, Megan?”

His quiet question startled her. “What about me?”

His gaze flickered over her face with interest and curiosity. “Have you ever been married?”

“Yes.” I’m sorry, Megan, our marriage is over. Having a family isn’t as important to me as it is to you. Kids will only get in the way of my legal career. Her belly clenched as her husband’s insensitive words whispered through her. “I’m divorced.”

He cocked his head, looking boyishly appealing. “What fool let you slip away?”

She couldn’t contain the bitter laughter that escaped her. Phillip Sanders was no fool. A callous jerk, yes, but at least he’d ended their marriage instead of stringing her along with empty promises he never intended to fulfill.

She studied Kane, seeing no ulterior motives in his question. “I’m surprised you think so.”

A noncommittal shrug lifted his shoulders. “I may not be in the market for a wife, Megan, but I’m not blind.”

The honest compliment, although issued underhandedly, made her smile. If she wasn’t careful, she could fall hard for this man who tried so hard to maintain a tough and gruff, don’t-get-too-close-to-me attitude.

She wasn’t blind, either.